Viera
by maxtreme225
Summary: For Viera...there is still hope....if you review!


Lush greenery always brought her comfort. The sharp scent of limeweed pervaded the air around her, calming her with its sharp, refreshing scent. The cheerful call of an Eagal, the elusive but loud forest bird native to Dalmasca's forests, punctuated the silence that prevailed. It was soon answered by another Eagal, though whether it was a friendly greeting or a challenge, Fran could no longer tell.

It is the fate of Viera who has left the Wood, she thought sadly. 

She is now an outcast of her own clan. Not the only one but an outcast nonetheless. A Viera who can no longer hear the voice of the Wood. One who can no longer comprehend the language of its creatures. One who has forgotten the Olden Tree Songs and the ancient tongue of Euryia or what is now known to the humes as Euryt Village.

Fran remembered a time when she herself looked down upon those that left the Wood. She had been a Tree-Warder, one of the best in the village. She had been a master of unarmed combat and none in her village is able to use a bow as well as she can. Up until now, she has retained her skills, maybe even improved upon them. But it is also the fate of the Guardians to be exposed to the outside world when coming across humes or Moogles trekking through the Wood. Many of her comrades had left after meeting with outsiders, some fleeing under the blanket of darkness, others announcing their departure to a solemn congregation in the Village Circle. Some had gone in search of adventure, riches and knowledge whereas others, such as herself, left because of an unexplainable ache in their hearts, telling them to leave. She had felt the first stirrings of the Mist, the tidings of what has yet to come to pass. She felt that she had a role to play and that the Wood can no longer spread its verdant canopy and defend the Viera from the rest of Ivalice as she had done for millennia.

Often, she has asked herself if this was the path meant for her. If it was her destiny to walk and live among humes as she did now. Many times, in many different places, she had been disillusioned by the acts of war and violence humes are prone to commit. She had, once, even been on the receiving end of prejudice and mistrust, simply because she was not a hume. She never understood the concept of prejudice. After all, one cannot choose to be a hume or a Banggal or a Gariff anymore than one can choose to be a Viera. It is the way of the beasts to hate one another because of the form one took when born, like the Black Chocobo's unexplained distrust towards the Yellow variety or the feral animosity between Ceouri and Panther, even though both have not marked biological difference other than physical appearances.

The Viera have a saying; _our_ _limbs be slight or long, our hearts sing the same song_. It was an expression taught to the young to have them realize the insignificance of outward appearances as long as they have a common goal.

_And yet_, thought Fran with an empty void of sadness in her heart, _for all their many wisdoms, Viera are still unable to see._ _Ivalice is changing and the ways of the Wood must change along with it. But it would not. The Wood is too set in it's ways, too ancient to change, too old to learn anew. It lives as it had and will continue to do so until it is but a glimmer of the Old Days left lingering on a land that has evolved tremendously. That is the fate of the Woods. To meet its doom in all its ancient glory._

As Fran looked up into the sky, the rays of the morning sun caressed her face, warming it with a tingle. Tears crept into the corners of her eye, tears she thought long shed and spent. Days of listening to its many songs, running through its many winding paths, every tree and every flower greeting her with its own melody. Days long past and best forgotten. _For the Wood, I can do nothing._

Fran stood up, blinked away her tears and began to stretch her joints. She then turned towards the sunrise, performing the Morning Ritual she had neglected to observe for so long. Her hands reached down and ran across the grass, a symbolic tribute to the Earth, gathering as much morning dew from them as possible before bringing her hands up sky ward to salute the sun and finally, bringing them down to wet her face. The Earth, the Sun and Viera. They are what help make the Wood. _The Wood is lost, _Fran thought despairingly. She turned away from the sun, disappointed that the strength the Morning Ritual was supposed to bring did not come. She walked back towards the camp. From the distance, she could see Basch already up and about, rolling up his cloak. The hume princess was also stirring.

_For Viera…_

Fran stopped walking, her thoughts interrupted. A burning sensation had began to creep into her. The Morning Ritual had worked after all. A newfound sense of purpose wrapped itself around her heart, strengthening it with fierce determination and energy, a proof of her unspent vitality. A proof of her identity as Viera.

_For Viera…there is still hope._

**Pls review. It's my first attempt at breaking into the Games scene here in ffnet and I need to know what you think and decide if I should continue.**


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